Enough [Club Pleasure 7] (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  “Did they make it stop?”

  “Uh-huh. Yes.”

  “But it still bothers you.”

  He watched her visibly process, little nose wrinkling and her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. Then her eyes flew open and she flailed in his hold. He tightened his arms and held her closer, containing her as best he could. There was amazing strength in that small body.

  “What are you doing? Where am I?” Eyes wild, she nearly screamed her questions.

  “You’re with me, Master Jordan, at Pleasure. In a member room. You took your punishment—and your pleasure—well. Such a good girl.”

  Emily began to shake, and her breathing increased to match a rapid heartbeat. A pulse ticked in her throat, and he pressed a kiss there. “Breathe, sweetheart. That’s my girl.”

  She settled again, and he offered her a drink of water, carefully tipping it to her lips until she consumed nearly half. “Better?”

  “I guess.”

  “Want to talk about your first spanking?”

  She was silent so long he wished he’d posed it as a command, but at last she answered. “I thought we’d be taking things slower.”

  “As did I, but someone was tardy and compounded her error with a heavy foot.”

  With a small huff, she freed a hand from the blanket and pushed her hair from her face. A look of consternation crossed her features. “Am I naked?”

  “Well, I didn’t dress you after taking you off the bench.”

  She squirmed, and her cheeks flushed pink.

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m not sure about being in public like that. And you cut my underwear off.”

  “Those little panties were wet, Emily. The scene aroused you, and it took very little to push you over.”

  Fascinated, he watched as indecision warred in her eyes, tiny flecks of gold sparkling in their azure depths. “And how embarrassing is that, being humiliated in public, spanked, and liking it. Coming in public?”

  “Considering how many submissives feel much the same way, I wouldn’t think you have anything to be embarrassed about.”

  Tugging the blanket up around her chin, she regarded him with a baleful stare. “It went pretty fast.”

  “How’s your bottom?”

  “Sore.” He knew she’d just managed to bite back a sarcastic response and marveled at how in tune he already was with Emily. With this submissive. He wasn’t going to get attached to her.

  “I’ll help you with that,” he said, and stood, enjoying her little gasp as he lifted her.

  Carrying her to the bed, he lowered her onto her belly and reached into the upper drawer of the nightstand. Choosing a jar of arnica, he unscrewed the top and gathered a goodly amount onto his fingertips. “Let the blanket fall free.”

  There was a slight hesitation, but Emily loosened her death grip on the material and he slipped it down and away from her body. The graceful swoop of her spine called to his fingers to trace it, and he smiled as she shivered.

  “You’re red and swollen, but no welts, sweetheart. No bruising, except for maybe, right here.” Bestowing a kiss on the affected area, he tasted her flesh, and only just restrained himself from nipping her. She clenched and shivered again.

  Applying the cooling ointment, he worked it gently across the slight span of her curvy ass, continuing in no discernable pattern until Emily finally relaxed into his touch. When he was satisfied, he went to wash his hands, hearing the deeper sounds of slumber, muffled by her face against the pillow.

  * * * *

  Coming awake, she blinked and took in her surroundings. She was on a sumptuous bed, the mattress just firm enough to support her while wonderfully cradling her body, and there was a soft, cuddly blanket draped over her. Her bottom ached dully, nothing she couldn’t manage, but the memory of the evening came crashing back into her consciousness and she squirmed onto her side, staring wildly about the room.

  “Easy, sweetheart.” Master Jordan lounged on a curiously shaped chair not far from the bed. He sat forward and leaned to tuck a braided restraint back under the cushion. Her attention snagged on the innocuous cord, and her pulse spiked before she dragged her eyes back to Jordan.

  “I fell asleep.” Brilliant, Em. Brilliant. So observant.

  “You had a big evening.”

  Feeling her face flush, she looked downward, right at the bulge in his leathers. Holy crap, the man had a package. She chewed on her bottom lip and pretended to study something intriguing at floor level.

  “The thing with your uncle still impacts you.”

  To say someone could have knocked her over with a breath of air wouldn’t be an exaggeration, no matter she was still lying down. She stared into Master Jordan’s assessing eyes and desperately reviewed the evening’s events. There was no way she’d have willingly told him about Thomas, so how had he divined it?

  “I don’t—”

  “No, Emily. Don’t dissemble. You told me about your uncle and that your family believed you, as did most others. Yet what happened still cripples you. Did you get therapy?”

  This wasn’t happening. Battling outrage and a desperate need to scream and cry, she gathered the blanket around her and scrambled from the bed. He’d tricked her somehow, pried the information out of her. Fuck him. It was her secret to keep and hers to deal with, even if she’d done a piss-poor job of that. He had no right.

  “I’m a psychologist. Not licensed, but qualified.”

  “And that makes what you did okay.” She didn’t bother to hide her snark.

  “Careful, sub. You came here to redefine yourself. Discover yourself. Hard to do that when you hide something festering that leaks over and poisons who you are.”

  His stern yet kind warning, along with the horrible truth in his statement, caused her to waffle in her indignation. Another curious fact, when she cautiously considered it, was her clarity of mind. She felt drained, yet curiously light, and his was such a very different response to her childhood trauma. No false hope, no misplaced empathy, and again, no unwelcome reassurance. Emily sat on the edge of the bed in a reenactment of the previous night. Same position, different room. Oh, and less clothing.

  “So you know. What does this mean?”

  “In a vanilla relationship, you’d presumably hope that your significant other would share your burden.”

  She snorted. “Not likely. Nobody gets it.” She set her lips tightly.

  “Come here, Emily.” Jordan gestured to his lap.

  She didn’t want to get any closer. He made her want to talk about it, share things. And if she sat on him, she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut. She reached deep inside for all those behaviors that drove people away.

  “I’m not averse to paddling you again.” Crap. He so read her.

  With more alacrity than she cared to acknowledge, she hustled over to clamber onto his lap, careless of where her weight rested, using her elbows with intent.

  “Minx.” Master Jordan’s big hands somehow insinuated themselves beneath the blanket to clasp her around the waist and settle her more comfortably—away from his cock. He folded her arms in front of her and effectively held her captive against his chest. “Relax.”

  “I can’t relax,” she said crossly. “You’re squishing me.”

  He didn’t loosen his grip, merely leaned back and tilted her with him, resting his chin on the top of her head. Emily thought she could get used to the pose as she gave in and snuggled close.

  “Ready to talk some more?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’ll think on it and we’ll pick it up again later.”

  Stiffening at his words, her hope that he’d let it be dashed, she fought rising despair, and decided. No way was she going to spend hours and hours agitating about what he wanted her to share. Squirming a little in his arms, marking the solid erection nestled against her hip, Emily sighed.

  “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

  “Pretty tasty bone, sweetheart. Unless you meant
something different.”

  Ah, the double entendre. Was he teasing her? She felt him smile against her hair, the faint movement of that sculpted mouth a soft encouragement.

  “I knew what he was. I figured it out and I told them before it happened. Maybe I didn’t know exactly what perverted old men did to little kids, but I still knew what he wanted. And nobody listened. They alternately chastised me for my ridiculous notions, or made light of them. They told good old Uncle Thomas, and the fucker took advantage. He thought he’d get away with it, except my sister saw him.

  “She’s younger than me by three years, but her convoluted story, combined with my last desperate attempt, had the other adults looking. And then they believed me. When it was too fucking late.” The body memory rose up and smacked her flat.

  Like she’d run a marathon, her lungs heaved, sucking in oxygen to alleviate the pounding of her heart, and the metallic taste in her mouth made her want to puke. If it wasn’t for Master Jordan’s strong arms, she knew she’d fly apart.

  “Okay, sweetheart, okay. Just breathe. Slowly. C’mon. Let’s coordinate heart beats.”

  Slowly, as she focused on his directions and the solid thump of his heart against her upper body, she settled. His breaths stirred through her hair.

  “What happened to the bastard?”

  Huh. She never thought of Uncle Thomas in the now, just in the before. But her mother had told her, in one of those relentless e-mails Emily rarely opened. Just her luck that time to read something that smacked her in the face. “After the trial and the media coverage? He got four years. And then nursing home not long after. Some kind of early onset dementia.”

  “Good. I hope he suffers and forgets, then remembers and suffers all over again.”

  That didn’t sound like a therapist. Hers had been all about forgiveness and letting go. How did a child forgive and forget when an adult imposed their will on them? When they couldn’t get their power back and there was no resolution, no acknowledgment by the people who should have protected them but fell down on the job?

  “Is it more because your parents failed you?”

  Hesitating, she cautiously agreed. “I think so.”

  “Kids tend to think their parents are omnipotent.”

  “My mother still expects that from me. And she’s never said she was sorry.”

  Emily squeezed her eyes so tight she saw spots behind the lids, and her nose ached. But Master Jordan didn’t challenge her, didn’t suggest that parents had no call to apologize. Instead, he tipped her a bit sideways and rubbed her back.

  “Where does your dad stand?”

  “I don’t know. With her, I guess.”

  “How often do you connect with them?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Not even your sister?”

  “The one who wasn’t besmirched, you mean? The little innocent? Fiona lives the perfect life, makes no waves, and causes no problems.” Emily couldn’t contain her bitterness. As an adult she hated herself for feeling so envious of her sister, but the little girl inside, the one who was stuck, remained resentful.

  Jordan stiffened but made no comment, so she continued, familiar with the pattern. Shrinks waited, infinitely patient. He’d outwaited her last night, too. “I finished high school to everyone’s surprise because there wasn’t a teacher who could stand the sight of me.” She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “So I got a teaching certificate and moved here. I’m not qualified to teach kids, but adult ed is always looking. ESL is a big deal, and I found I have an aptitude to teach certain groups.”

  “First time I’ve heard a hint of pride in your voice, sweetheart.”

  “I do okay.”

  A pinch on her tender butt made her jump. “What?”

  “Honesty. Nothing less.”

  “Okay! I’m a good teacher. My students like me, and they keep giving me more to teach.”

  “And I’ll bet the majority of them lust after the hot little blonde behind the schoolmarm clothes and horn rims.”

  She gasped and twisted about in order to look him in the eye. “How do you know what I wear to class? How are you doing this?”

  “Ah, Emily. I’m a seasoned Dom, and I have a degree in clinical psychology. It’s what I do. I read people, especially sweet submissives. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Her sharing and revelations hadn’t dulled her intuition. If anything, it improved it. There was a clear statement there in his explanation. He was clarifying their…Relationship probably wasn’t the best word to describe what they had. Maybe…connection. Master Jordan was defining their roles, and something pulled at the middle of her chest. So she wasn’t to fall for him, neither in love nor lust, because that wasn’t part of what he was offering. Emily wondered if she was making a serious mistake, maybe the worst one of her life, then shoved all her anxiety aside. However unorthodox, this Dom had stripped her bare, and not just physically. He held her darkest secrets and hopefully would address her darkest desires. It was more than she’d had over all the years, and she shut her eyes again and leaned into him, inhaling the smell of fresh linen combined with leather and healthy male.

  If she’d learned anything, he could only take the power she’d grant him. She could have stopped him at any time with her safe word, and the fact she hadn’t, despite how overwhelming his approach had been, spoke pretty loudly. Maybe she was some kind of nutcase, but she trusted him to do right by her, within the boundaries of their association. It would have to be enough. It was more than she’d ever expected anyhow.

  Chapter Three

  “What happened to your thighs?”

  Emily sighed. He was at it again. After four nights apart, she’d shown up at the Club over an hour early, slightly embarrassed by her eagerness, but her anticipation had been too great. And she didn’t want to risk being late again. Master Jordan hadn’t said he was disappointed that night, thinking she wasn’t coming, but she secretly hoped he had been. And she knew for a fact he was interested in her enough to feel concern and worry, simply by his reaction. Probably the same way he’d feel about any submissive he agreed to train, but it mattered to her.

  They’d wandered the Club, going from scene to scene, as he introduced her to other members. She’d remembered her place, allowing him to take the lead, minding her manners and behaving perfectly as her studies had taught her. His quiet praise and acknowledgment of her efforts cast a warm glow, and she basked in it. Aware he was cataloguing her reaction to everything that went on around them, she wasn’t surprised when he ordered her to remove her clothing and take a position beneath a set of manacles hanging from the ceiling. Her pulse had spiked with excitement, having witnessed the flogging of an older woman earlier. The erotic scene had spoken to her, different than her punishment spanking, yet with the same results. She saw the submissive fly, and wanted it again for herself. Despite Jordan’s interrogation, or perhaps because of it—Emily was learning to give credit where credit was due—her days at the school were brighter somehow, and she didn’t feel quite so burdened even away from her job. Stress relief.

  She’d also felt she was swimming in arousal, the heated feel of Master Jordan’s hand against her intimate parts the memory she chose to remember first and foremost. Master looked at her and handled her as they moved about the Club, gentle nudges and strokes, a hand placed just so in the small of her back. The casual slide of his hand over the column of the throat to encircle it lightly when he pressed a kiss on her hair was anything but casual, full of promise and intent. And possessiveness. None of the men in her life had ever stirred her this way, although she tended to choose the ones she could order around and treat badly with no fear of retaliation. Upon reflection, it was both shameful and unfulfilling no matter the reason for it.

  The tiny bustier Master Jordan directed her to wear had put her breasts on display, and the thong rubbed distractingly against the folds of her sex the wetter she became from witnessing all the sexual activity around her as well as from
his attention.

  Standing beneath the shackles immediately drew others’ notice, and for a brief moment she wished she hadn’t ticked the box agreeing to exhibition, although it had felt exciting and quite naughty when she filled out the application. She’d cudgeled her memory for all the other boxes she had ticked, and her belly swooped. But back then she really hadn’t thought to go through with it. Master Jordan’s frank approval of her body, his heated gaze raking over her every curve and hidden parts, then focused every fiber of her being on him, driving all her trifling concerns out of her head.

  “Do you need a blindfold, sub?”

  Even being relegated to the third person hadn’t cooled her jets. She felt his need for her and ignored the boundary he implied. She refused the blindfold, and the pleased look on his face was more than a reward.

  “I’m going to use a flogger, sweetheart. No count. My discretion. This isn’t correction—you’ve done very well tonight.”

  He wasn’t asking for her input, and she gave none, other than to present her wrists, always a quick study. Standing on tiptoe, striving for balance and very aware of the picture she must present had taken all of her effort until she felt the soft kiss of the leather strands against her buttocks.

  She’d done her best to stay in place, but broke her stance at first before learning the cadence. And then it was all about processing the increasing sting and bite of pain. Her ass cheeks, shoulders, and thighs, the strands curling to catch the sides of her breasts and abdomen, teasing her pussy folds until she was a mass of trembling need and existing in a place she’d glimpsed once before at his hands. There had been no fear. The cuffs at her wrists had held her physical being, and Master Jordan wouldn’t let her emotional self get lost.

  A hot wet mouth had suckled at her apex, big hands lifting her legs over broad shoulders before his fingers spread her folds wide. Already awash on a heady mix of endorphins, she’d screamed her release and panted through the aftershocks. Jordan had eased her back to her feet and held her steady while other hands released the restraints. Her legs hadn’t held her, and she wobbled, focusing her eyes on her Dom’s face, seeking his approval.